


The Case of The Missing Dinosaur

by WhatLocked



Series: The William Watson Case Files [5]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Biting, Case Fic, Clues, Dubious criminals, Gen, Greg is an awesome accomplice, Lock Picking, Missing dinosaurs, Mycroft sort of deserved it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:46:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10736325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: Tom Bombadil has gone missing and it is up to William and Sherlock to track him down and save him from the clutches of a nefarious foe.





	The Case of The Missing Dinosaur

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was supposed to be a short little something cute and fluffy because so many of you requested another adventure with our boys but it turned out to be nearly 7000 words of something hopefully cute and fluffy. Hope you all enjoy, and as always, I love hearing from you all because you are all terribly wonderful!

~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was nervous.  He didn’t like being nervous.  In fact, he avoided it at all possible costs, but sometimes it was unavoidable and this, right now, was one of those unavoidable instances.  Across the table from him was William.  This wasn’t what was making him nervous.  Nor was the fact that John was at work on a Saturday afternoon (seriously, of all the doctors that place employed it was John they had to call in!) nor was it the fact that Mrs Hudson was away for the weekend.  No, these things had happened before,except for John being called in on a Saturday, but Sherlock had been left alone with William plenty of times, especially since John refused to take them both shopping again (slight overreaction).  No, what was making Sherlock nervous was the way Williams arms were crossed across his small body, fists clenched, and the way he was scowling at the bowl of fruity-bix before him on the kitchen table.  This exact scenario brought back memories and not memories of a pleasant kind.  In fact, the memories were very unpleasant, uncomfortable and unwanted because that look meant that William was on the verge of throwing a tantrum.

Sherlock tried to run over everything that could have happened in the last nine minutes that could have set William in a bad mood.  Something happened between him waking up and coming down stairs.  

It wasn’t the fact that John wasn’t here.  John had told his son yesterday that he would be working and William was fine with that because Sherlock was going to show him an experiment with dry ice.  It wasn’t the food that had been presented, without being asked for, because William had been looking forward to it ever since John came home with a brand new flavour of fruity-bix in the shopping bags yesterday afternoon.  (Sherlock had tried and deemed Strawberry to be the worst of the flavours and would be glad to leave the entire box to William.)  As far as Sherlock was aware, William hadn’t been banned from watching his morning cartoons, as John seemed to drum that fact into Sherlock multiple times before leaving the house whenever that occurred and it wasn’t the fact that they would be pastry free for the weekend, for Mrs Hudson had made sure they had enough cakes, biscuits and muffins to last two weekends (especially since John monitored how much William ate) before she left for her weekend away with her bookclub of dubious morals.

So, with all the obvious reasons eliminated, Sherlock looked harder.  Williams eyes were puffy under his small, but very John like frown, his hair was knotted more so than usual at the back and his pyjamas were twisted with the middle button undone, therefore, he hadn’t slept as well as usual and had tossed and turned more than normal.  

“Nightmare?” Sherlock asked, cautiously.

William just harrumphed out a noise that may or may not have been a _no_.

Sherlock looked harder.  His bottom lip was a bit redder than usual, so he had been chewing it.  A sign of anxiety.   His left hand (dominant, just like his father) was tensing more than the right before relaxing, just a bit, only to tense again.  He wanted to hold or touch something but was restraining himself.  His eyes kept straying to a spot behind Sherlock before glaring at the bowl again.  Sherlock turned to see Johns coffee cup on the bench behind him.  Maybe this was about John not being here on a Saturday morning.

“Are you upset that your dad has gone into work?”

Again, a grunt in the negative.  So Sherlock thought back to when he first heard William wake up.  He hadn’t come thundering down the stairs, almost tripping on the last two, like he usually did.  There had been some ruffling and faint thumping before he stomped down to the living area, (that, right there, should have been a warning that today was not going to be easy), so William had looked for something in his room before coming down, more than likely pulling all the blankets off of his bed in the process.  So, something was missing and it hadn’t been found.  Something that was essential to, not only a good nights sleep but also a pleasant day.  Sherlock looked to William, realising that he was indeed missing something and mentally slapped himself for not realising it sooner.    He had a quick look under the table to make sure it hadn’t dropped to the floor and then stood up.  

“How long has Tom Bombadil been missing?” he asked seriously, for this was, indeed, a serious matter.

At this, tears rimmed Williams eyes and his bottom lip started to quiver.  “I couldn’t find him latht night and daddy thaid…” William stopped to take in a huge gulp of air, trying valiantly not to break down, sobbing.  “He thaid that he would find him and tuck him into my blanketth, but he didn’t, and I thtill can’t find him.”

Sherlock thought back on last night.  He had been bent over his microscope, testing out the properties of holy water versus normal water (there is no difference) when John had come down asking if he had seen the dinosaur.  Sherlock had grunted out a negative and set to work, tapping out an email on his phone to the priest of a catholic church who still believed in ‘private’ (aka - illegal) exorcisms, stating that he might wish to find another source of warding of his so called demons, because there was nothing special about the water he had been carrying around in his pocket.  He didn’t let on that the  police would be coming for him in relation to the death of a young woman of whom he had illegally performed a said exorcism on, once they had received the final lab results of her blood works.  Probably some time this afternoon.  This wasn’t really the point, the point was that Sherlock had pushed the problem aside and then, once he had finished his email, he had distracted John by showering and then walking through the lounge room in nothing and lounging on the couch in a not very modest manner, thus apparently inadvertently stopping John from his task of tracking Tom Bombadil.  

That sort of made Williams bad mood Sherlocks fault (only marginally, John is a grown man and a soldier - he should have more self restraint) and therefore it was up to Sherlock to help fix the problem.  

“So, we have a case then” Sherlock stated, leaning on the table and bringing his hands together under his chin, as if contemplating a complex problem.  As hoped, this seemed to perk William up somewhat and he uncrossed his arms and gave a small nod, wiping his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his pyjamas.  

“Well, you will need to eat your breakfast, because this could take all day, and we may not have time to stop for lunch, it is quite serious after all, and I will ask you some questions.”

Eagerly, William sat up straight and pulled the bowl of cereal towards him, spooning the now soggy goop into his mouth.  If he had noted that it was the new, strawberry flavour of fruity-bix, he didn’t let on his final verdict, too focused on Sherlock and the beginnings of a new case.

“Where did you last see Mr Bombadil?” Sherlock asked, staring straight at William.  “And don’t fib.  I can tell when you fib.” 

William swallowed the mouthful of food and then looked away, guiltily, before looking back at Sherlock.  “I tried to take him to daycare, to thow Mr Hubert, but daddy knew I had put him in my bag and took him out.”

Sherlock actually knew this.  It was him after all that had alerted John to the fact that his son was smuggling his favourite toy out of the flat.  It all would have been fine and good until Mr Bombadil got lost or stolen, then all hell would have broken loose.  This morning was a perfect example of that very fact.

“And where did this happen?”  

“Down thtairth” William announced around his spoon.

“Have you made any enemies lately.  Been rude to anyone, pushed in line, eaten someone else’s pudding, broken their lego house?”

William giggled at the way Sherlock frowned more at every accusation. “No.”

“Hmmm” Sherlock hummed out, having an idea of the whereabouts of the missing dinosaur.  More facts were needed.  “This is going to be tricky indeed.  Eat up, get dressed.  We are going to need help.”

“Gavin?” William asked.

“Gavin” Sherlock confirmed.

As William finished getting ready Sherlock went downstairs and let himself into Mrs Hudson’s flat.  She had finally had to admit that she did indeed add marijuana to her soothers as her two small plants were at a critical stage and she had quietly, out of earshot of John and William, asked Sherlock to look after them while she was away.  There were honey and macadamia cookies in it if he agreed, so Sherlock went downstairs, checked the lamps over her plants and adjusted the moisture levels of the soil, helped himself to two cookies and then, spotting what he needed, shoved it in the pocket of his coat and went back upstairs.

Upstairs, William was waiting on the couch for him, completely dressed and teeth brushed.  “Your shoes are on the wrong feet” Sherlock informed him and then went into his room, pulling down Johns back pack and throwing in supplies for the day, including the contents of his pocket.  When he came back out, William had righted his shoes, and after a few minutes working the tangles out of Williams curls, they were ready to leave.

~o~

Lestrade greeted them at the door and let them in, not that it was necessary.  Sherlock had figured out the code to his brothers apartment weeks ago.  He just hadn’t had any reason to break in and was especially reluctant to do so now that the DI had moved in with him.  The last thing Sherlock needed was to find his brother in an uncompromising position with Lestrade.  

“Sherlock, William” he greeted them.  “What brings you over this lovely day?”

“Tom Bombadil hath gone mithing” William announced gravely.  

“Tom Bombadil?” Lestrade was clearly confused.

“The dinosaur” Sherlock replied impatiently.  He had messaged Lestrade the details on the way over, assuming he knew the name of the dinosaur.  

“Oh, right, yes.  Tom Bombadil.  Bad business that.  What can I do to help.”

“Find him and arretht the perthon who thtole him” William replied, as if it were completely obvious that that was what Lestrade should be doing.

“Jesus, he has been around you too long” Lestrade complained, looking to Sherlock.  Sherlock just shrugged and then pushed his way past and into the flat.  Lestrade stepped aside and let William follow.

“Ah, Mycroft” Sherlock announced, walking into the living room.  His brother was sitting in an arm chair with the newspaper in his hands, looking more casual than he had seen him in years.  Gone was the vest and jacket, his top button was undone and his feet were minus a pair of ridiculously expensive shoes (and Sherlock knew they were ridiculously expensive, as his too were even more ridiculously expensive). “Just the person I need to see” he announced, ignoring the off kilter way, seeing his brother so relaxed left him.  “I need CCTV footage from around Baker Street for the past twenty-seven hours.”

Mycroft just raised an eyebrow.  _You are not serious, surely?_

Sherlock glared back.  _I am and if you don’t help, I will tell Greg that you weren’t really out of the country a fortnight ago._

Mycroft let out an irritated sigh, stood up and left the room with an “I have real work to do.  I will leave you three to your little games.”

“He was in the office the entire time your parents were up to visit” Sherlock blurted out once Mycroft was out of earshot.  The look on Lestrade’s face went from easy going to bright red and furious in a matter of seconds.  Before an outburst could happen, pulling his entire plan to a screeching halt, Sherlock placed a hand on Lestrade’s arm.  “I know at least four ways you can get back at him, with minimal effort, so long as you don’t act on it now.  Let him think he got away with it.  Help me out today and I will send you the list.  You can choose which ever one you think will make him the most miserable.  But only if you help me today.”

Lestrade glared at Sherlock.  “The two of you are manipulating bastards, you know that, right.”

“I blame our mother” was Sherlocks reply and eventually, with a tired rub between his eyebrows, Lestrade let the frustration almost completely drain away and said, “Alright, what do you want me to do.”

~o~

The first stop was the park.  William had regaled all sorts of adventures to Tom Bombadil about his trips to the park and Sherlock suggested that maybe, just maybe, Tom had gone out on his own and got lost.  The park proved to be fruitless, but William did get to feed the ducks and while they were there, the first clue came through.  It was a ransom note.  

When Sherlocks phone vibrated in his pocket he quickly pulled it out find a message from the prepaid phone that he had slipped to Lestrade, along with a few other necessary items.  The message was a picture of the familiar blue and orange dinosaur, taped to a stainless steel bench.  

Sherlock showed the message to William, who gasped in shock.  “Are they going to hurt him?” he asked quietly, not taking his eyes off of the picture on the phone.

“Of course not” Sherlock assured him, as a matter of factly.  “If they were going to do that, they wouldn’t have sent the message.”  It was rubbish reasoning, but there was no need to send the boy into a panic.  

“But we don’t know where he ith.”  William sounded far too dejected, so Sherlock sat on the grass and indicated that William should join him.  Together they studied the photo.  

“What can you see?” Sherlock asked, holding the phone out to William.  William took the phone and studied it for a few seconds.  

“It ith a bright room and he ith on a metal bench.”

“Yes, and…”

“He ith thtuck to the bench with the thort of tape daddy uthes to thtick bangaeth onto my knee when I fall over.”

“So, with all of that information, where do we know that has metal benches and uses medical supplies and has a lot of bright white lights?”

William gave a shrug but then looked up to Sherlock.  “At Molly’th work.”

Sherlock smiled.  “Right, so, Tom Bombadil is currently at the morgue.”

Quickly the two of them got up off of the ground and Sherlock had to practically run to keep up with William as he raced out of the park and towards the main road.

As they got into the taxi, headed towards Bart’s Hospital,  Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Lestrade.

**Plan number 1 - I can organise, so my brother is unaware,**

**for the two of you to have an evening at a restaurant called**

**The Red Orchid and Pirates of the Penzance.  Two things he**

**despises.    All expenses paid for.  SH**

~o~

The morgue was empty, which was a good thing as John would surely have words for Sherlock should he actually introduce William to a real corpse.  It would also involve Sherlock having no choice but to sleep on the couch for at least a night.  Quietly they entered the room only to find that, not only where there no people there, but there were no dinosaurs either.  What they did find though, was the remains of the tape that had held Tom Bombadil captive, still attached to the metal bench.  

“Well, at least we got the clue right” Sherlock said, pulling the tape off and holding it up.

“But where ith he now?” William asked, sounding sad as he stood on his toes to be able to peer at the surface of the empty bench.  

“We will just have to look for clues and try and find out” Sherlock said and together, they started to search the room for a clue he knew Lestrade would have left for them.

It wasn’t long before William crawled out from under the bench brandishing a small silver key.  “Look what I found Therlock” he cried.  

Sherlock took the small key from Williams hand and made a show of studying it.  “It’s a handcuff key” he announced after a few moments.  “So, where would we find handcuffs?”

William seemed to think the question over, whilst scrutinising the small key held up between the two of them.  “The polith thtation” he cried out.

“At the police station indeed” confirmed Sherlock, straightening up.  “To Scotland Yard” and the two of them marched out of the morgue, while Sherlock snapped a photo of the key and sent it to the ‘ _abductor_ s’ phone number, along with the following message.

**Plan number 2 - There is a decorator that owes me a favour.**

**We can do up his study in deep reds and blacks the next time**

**he is out of the country.  He will hate it, but will put up with it,**

**at least for a week, because you organised it as a surprise for**

**him.  SH**

The following message was through the small window of a cell, showing the orange and blue dinosaur sitting on the small cot provided, his little legs handcuffed together.  

Sherlock hailed a cab and showed the picture to William.  “To Thcotland Yard” he yelled through the partition to the cabbie and soon they were on their way.

~o~

“Freak, Greg told me to give you this” was the greeting that Sherlock received as he made his way towards Lestrade’s office.

“Oh, Sally, I see you are useful after all” was Sherlocks brash reply as he stopped by her desk, taking a small envelope from her outstretch hand.  

“Not sure why he feels the need to waste police time.  It’s not like we don’t have better things to do then to cater for whatever fuc…”

“Uh, uh, uh Sergeant Donovan” Sherlock interrupted.  “Not around small ears.”

“What the hell are you on about now Freak?” She spat, looking at him as if had just gone around the bend.  Just then, William poked his head from behind Sherlock, where he had been hiding, not too sure about the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Who the hell gave you a kid?”

William frowned up at her.  “My daddy did” he answered, sounding rather put out.   

“Shit, you brought John’s kid to a case” Sally replied, the fact that William belonged to John dawning on her.  “Does he _know_ you brought his kid along to a case.  God, I knew you were disturbed, but this takes the cake.”

“Sally, this is William.  We are currently seeking a lost friend of his and Lestrade has been kind enough to help, hence, this” he said, holding up the envelope.  “So, you have fulfilled your duties in passing it along, which means we must be off.  So long.  Give my regards to Anderson” and he turned and stalked away.  He didn’t get very far before he realised that William wasn’t following him, so he turned to see that the small boy was standing before Sally Donovan with a very stern look on his face.

“Didn’t your daddy tell you that it ith not very nithe to say mean nameth to people.”

Sally looked down at the small boy and her mouth opened to reply, but then shut again without uttering a word.  

“Hith name ith Therlock.  It ith not freak.   That ith only two thyllableth and not very hard to thay” he explained carefully, and still, Sally seemed to be rendered speechless.

“Therrr - lock” William repeated enunciating each syllable slowly.

It took a few seconds, but eventually the sergeant got the hint.  “Ther…Sherlock” she quickly corrected and William beamed up at her.  

“Thee.  You can thay it” and with that, he turned and joined Sherlock, Sally looking toward him with a bewildered look on her face and Sherlock looking at her with a smug expression of his own.

Sherlock didn’t ride on the feeling of absolute bliss at seeing Sally Donovan getting told by a four year old.  Instead he directed William to the lifts and they made their way down to the jail cells.  

“Sherlock” greeted Harold, the 58 year old officer that could usually be found manning the cells.  “And young sir” he nodded down at William.  William grinned up at him.  

“You have got Tom Bombadil” he announced excitedly. 

“Hmmm” Harold mused, scrolling through the list of inmates that they were currently housing.  “Bombadil, Bombadil” he muttered as the list of names flashed before his eyes.  “Sorry, lad, but we don’t seem to have anyone by that name.”  Harold looked down at William, looking truly sorry.

“Here” Sherlock said, handing the note Lestrade had left for him.  “May we view this cell.  It may hold a clue.”

Harold took the letter from Sherlocks long fingers and read it over.  “That one has been empty all day, so I guess it won’t hurt if you have a look over” he agreed and took the boys back, opening up cell 18 for them.  “Just let us know when you have finished, so we can lock it back up” and he left Sherlock and William alone to do the investigating.  

It didn’t take long to find the clue this time.  On the cot, that Tom Bombadil had been photographed sitting on, was a picture of the caduceus and a pair of open handcuffs.

“Do you know what this is?” Sherlock asked, sounding baffled as he slid the picture over to William.  

“It meanth that you are a doctor” William supplied.  

“Well, what could this possibly mean, then?”

The two of them sat in silence.  “Maybe the kidnapper ith a doctor?”  William guessed, not sounding too sure, as if the idea didn’t sit too well with him.  After all, all the doctors he knew (his father) were nice people.  His overall opinion of all doctors were that they were generally friendly people, not fiends who stole stuffed dinosaurs and locked them up.

“Or, maybe he is being held at a medical institution by a mad man”  Sherlock suggested as he took a photo of the clue and sent it to the criminals phone.  He then tapped out a message to Lestrade.

**Plan number 3 - Pop music.  He abhors it, especially from the**

**80’s.  I can have a collection of records at your place within a**

**week.  I believe retro parties are all the rage these days.  No,**

**I don’t want an invite. SH**

This idea seemed to lift some of the worry off of Williams face, but not all of it.  “But where?” he asked.

A new photo came in.  This time it was of the dinosaur, bandage around his front left leg, sitting on a beige plastic chair in a beige room.

It could have been any number of chairs in any number of waiting rooms, but this particular chair was clearly very specifically chosen.  Even William knew the location without a second thought.

“That’th Daddyth work.  You can thee Katie in the back of the photo.  Do you think Daddy fixed up Tom Bombadil?”

Sherlock pondered over the picture.  “I think this criminal is very clever, and extremely devious.  If your daddy had fixed him up, he would have called us, so the criminal mastermind behind this heinous crime has managed to sneak Mr Bombadil into your fathers surgery and get him fixed up and all without your father knowing about it.  Very devious indeed.”

“Do you think if daddy findth out, he will thoot him?”

At first, Sherlock was flabbergasted.  The fact that William knew that his father had shot people and the implication that he knew his father owned (even if it was illegal) a gun was not at all expected.  The fact that he thought his father would actually shoot someone, was mind blowing, and while Sherlock hadn’t minded at all that John had shot in order to defend Sherlock, he got the feeling that John would not approve of Sherlock and William admiring or encouraging the action.  Especially not when the final culprit was exposed. 

“Probably not.  But he would probably have very stern words with him.”

William gave a small frown.  “Do you think he will take away hith TV for a day.”

“I’d certainly like to see him try” Sherlock admitted and then stood up.  “Come on.  To the surgery.”  Sherlock left the cell and William followed.  They said goodbye to Harold and made their way outside and hailed a cab.

~o~

The surgery was packed, which didn’t bode well for finding the clue that was surely left behind.

Thankfully, the person, Katie, on reception had had the foresight to pick up the evidence and keep it safely behind the counter.

“Hello cutie” She greeted down at William as he approached the counter.

“Hello Katie” William replied chirpily, a b _utter-wouldn’t melt-in-his-mouth_ smile painted across his lips.  

“What can we do for you today?”

“I am looking for Tom Bombadil” he answered, far too sweetly.

“He wouldn’t happen to be blue and orange with some awesome spikes on his back, would he?”

“Thatth him” William cried, almost triumphantly.

An exaggerated sigh left Katie’s mouth.  “You just missed him.  He left here not ten minutes ago with a shifty looking guy in a fancy suit.”

Williams grin dropped.  

“But, this was left behind” She said, reaching over and handing William an envelope.  Quickly, with the clumsy fingers of an excited four year old, he opened the envelope and pulled out a picture.  

Sherlock didn’t understand it.  It was of a grotesque alien in a suit, clearly from one of those ridiculous TV shows that John and William watched.

“What is it?” he asked, staring down at the picture.  

“It’th the thilenth” William whispered and the clue suddenly made sense, even if the image didn’t.  He took a photo of the picture and messaged it to the unknown number followed by a message, reading:

**Plan number 4 - The next time our Mother is in town, I can hack**

**into his phone and send her a message to invite her to stay with**

**him.  If you chose this one, you may want to leave town.  She is not**

**a pleasant woman and I don’t think he would appreciate you being**

**torn to shreds. SH**

“They are alienth from Doctor Who” William explained, knowing Sherlock well enough to know that he wouldn’t know what he was looking at.  “When you look away, you forget them.”

“I find that about most people I meet” Sherlock quipped and William giggled.  It was as the boy turned his attention back to the receptionist that the new message came through.  It was of Tom Bombadil, his mouth covered with a tiny makeshift gag, sitting on an oak desk.

“Ith my daddy here today?” he heard William ask Katie.

“He is with a patient at the moment.  “

“Okay” William said, somewhat despondently.  “Can I have a lollipop?” He asked, going from vaguely melancholy to hopeful in the span of 1.5 seconds.  Katie smiled and held a jar down to him.  

“Thank you” he said, fishing a red candy from the jar.  

“You are quite welcome” Katie replied.  “And I hope you find your dinosaur friend.”

“Me too” William replied and together, he and Sherlock made their way outside, where Sherlock showed him the next photo.  

“I don’t know where that ith” he admitted, handing the lollipop to Sherlock to unwrap.

“I know exactly where that is” Sherlock said sombrely.  “And you’re not going to like it.”

~o~

The driver dropped them off at the ideal spot to sneak around to the back of the club, which was no easy feat when you were on your own, let alone when you had a four year old with you, but they couldn’t take the front door.  The last time (only time) they had brought William here, they had almost been thrown out.  Chaos had ensued.  It had been wonderful, but was not going to aid their purpose on this day.  So, they had had to sneak around the back and Sherlock had picked the complex set of five locks (paranoid much?) while William looked intently on.  A voice in the back of his head was telling him that he really should not be showing William how to pick a lock, but he ignored it in favour of desperate times and all that.

“Now, you are going to have to be completely silent” Sherlock stated as the last lock clicked open.

“I don’t like it here” grumbled William.  

“Neither do I, but if we want to get Tom Bombadil back, without getting arrested by the police, then I am going to have to ask you to be as silent as, well, whatever is silent.”

“Fine” came the petulant answer from William and with a deep breath, Sherlock opened the door and the two of them snuck in to the Diogenes club.

Quickly they made their way downstairs and through a maze of hallways, dodging and hiding from the odd guard that patrolled the halls whenever they got bored and before long they were standing in front of the visitors room.  Sherlock made quick work of the lock and the two of them stole inside, quietly closing the door behind them and switching on the light.

As expected, there was no Tom Bombadil, but where he had been sitting there was a clue.  Quickly, the two of them made their way over to the desk and Sherlock picked up the paper bag from the desk and gave it quick once over.  He looked inside to see crumbs littering the bottom of the bag and something yellow smeared on the inside.  He swiped his finger over the evidence and tasted the substance.  

“Lemon icing” he announced.

“Bloody Mycroft” William replied and Sherlock grinned at how quickly the boy had not only come to the correct answer, but had also been quick to get angry with Sherlocks brother.  

At once, sherlock sent the photo of the empty, but very incriminating bag to the number provided and almost straight away there was a photo of Tom Bombadil, sitting on top of an umbrella stand.

“Looks like we need to make another trip to see my brother” Sherlock stated as they both looked at the picture on the screen.

“Your brother ith a bathtard” William sulked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes, but maybe we won’t tell your father that.”

It didn’t take them as long to leave the building, as this time they took the front the door, leaving a very confused doorman in their wake, as well as very angry members as both William and Sherlock called out “Laters” just before they exited through the doors.

~o~

Sherlock didn’t bother knocking.  Instead, he disabled Mycroft’s alarm with ease and the two of them let themselves into the apartment.  Not that they were expecting to find anything, but they checked the umbrella stand first, since it was in the front hall.  There was nothing there except two umbrellas.  There would be another one in Mycroft’s car and he still hadn’t located the fourth from Christmas time, much to Sherlocks delight and Mycroft’s chagrin.

They made their way down the hall to Mycroft’s study to find the man sitting at his desk reading through a stack of papers.

“Two visits in one day, brother.  To what do I owe the visit this time.  Maybe organise a tea party with the queen and your imaginary friends?”

“I want Tom Bombadil back” William demanded.  

At this, Mycroft actually put down the paper he was reading and looked up at William.  “I can assure you, I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

Sherlock was just about to explain, but then William did something that he hadn’t allowed for.  He charged Mycroft.

“LIAR” he yelled and practically tackled Mycroft further back into his chair.  

Sherlock wasn’t sure whether to be amused or worried, but while he decided, he took out his phone and took a photo of his brother, completely taken by surprise, being attacked by a four year old child.

”Give. Him. Back” William yelled and then suddenly there was a yelp of pain from Mycroft, something Sherlock never expected to hear, as William sunk his teeth into the the top outer edge of his thigh.  

Snapping one more shot, Sherlock quickly intervened by moving forward and grabbing William around the waist and hauling him off of his brother.

“What in the _hell_ has gotten into him” Mycroft demanded, somewhat breathless and wincing as he rubbed over his thigh.

“I think you should tell him where it is” Sherlock advised, holding a writhing William against his chest.

“Where _what_ is?” Mycroft hissed.

Sherlock studied his brother for a second and then broke out laughing.  “Oh my god.  You really have no idea, do you.”

William stopped thrashing at Sherlocks laughter and Mycroft glared at him.

“Why, Sherlock, would I know anything about your silly games?”

“You really pissed him off, didn’t you?”

“Pissed who….Oh, you didn’t.  Please, Sherlock tell me you didn’t.”

“What, tell Gavin that you lied about not being in England so you didn’t have to meet his family.  Okay, I didn’t.”

The glare that Mycroft threw Sherlocks way was simply murderous.  Sherlock just shrugged and hefted William around so he was perched on his hip, still not sure about letting him loose.  

“I think you need to leave now, Sherlock” Mycroft warned.

“Not without the dinosaur” Sherlock replied, in a sing-song voice.

“I don’t know anything about any bloody dinosaur, nor do I have time to worry about it as now I have a certain amount of damage control to orchestrate, no thanks to you.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you had a big part to play in it, and I suggest you locate the dinosaur, which is here somewhere, as I can’t hold William for much longer and I don’t know what he will do if I let him go.”

At this, Mycroft’s hand absently rubbed over the spot where William had sunk his teeth in and Sherlock didn’t miss the wince again.  William must have really bitten in hard.

Just then there was a sound behind them and Sherlock turned to find Lestrade entering the room.

“Gregory, I am assuming you know something about this?” Mycroft asked, his hand gesturing out towards his brother and the child on his hip.  Lestrade looked towards Sherlock and William and then towards Mycroft.  

“Is this about the thumping noise I heard coming from your bottom draw earlier on?” he asked, sounding far too innocent like, causing Sherlock to turn away from William to cover the smirk.

“What noise?” Mycroft asked, sounding like he had enough of this conversation far too long ago.

“Don’t know Myc” again, Sherlock smirked, knowing how much Mycroft hated the shortening of his name.  “You don’t let me into your desk.  Too many state secrets and all that.”

With a sigh, Mycroft pushed his chair back and leant down to unlock and rummage through the draw.  When he sat back up, there was a familiar orange and blue dinosaur in his hands looking plumper and more clean than the last time it had been in 221 B Baker Street.

“Tom Bombadil” William cried and scrambled to get out of Sherlocks grip, who obliged out of fear of dropping the boy.  He ran over to Mycroft and practically snatched the toy out of his hands, hugging him to his chest.  He glared up at Mycroft.  “He ith not yourth.  Get your own dinothaur” and then turned and stomped out of the room.

“I guess that is our cue to leave.  Mycroft, Gavin” he nodded at each man and followed William out of the room.  

It didn’t take long for Lestrade to follow them to the front door.  

“Thank you, Lestrade, for your help today” Sherlock said, adjusting Williams jumper, which had become all rucked up during his tossle with Mycroft.  

“What was all the yelling?  I heard it from the upstairs bedroom?”

At this Sherlock just grinned.  “It seems that an angry four year old is much more dangerous than we all thought.  I’m sure my brother will fill you in on the details.”

“Yeah, talking about details, you know that deal we made?”

Sherlock nodded.

“I choose all four.”

“But the deal was…”

“I don’t care.  Consider it payment for all the bloody times you get my name wrong.”  

Sherlock considered the change in the arrangement.  It was decided definitely when Lestrade leant over and whispered “All four or I tell William here who really orchestrated Tom Bombadil’s traumatic day out.”

“Fine” he snapped and then turned and left the apartment with one happy William clutching one returned dinosaur.

~o~

It was as they were gluing the last picture in the book when John returned home along with the scent of Thai food accompanying him.

“Good evening boys” he called out, placing the bags of takeaway on the kitchen table.  “I hear you were down at the surgery today” he said, coming into the living room and taking off his jacket.  “You should of hung around.  We could have had lunch.”

"We were buthy doing important thingth” William announced, picking up a crayon and drawing a colourful boarder around the picture.

“Important things, huh?”

“Yup.  We had to find Tom Bombadil.”

At this, John somewhat paled.  “Ah, buddy, I’m so sorry.  I forgot to look last night.  Did you find him alright, and why did that take you to the surgery.  Oh god, you didn’t get hurt did you?”

“Calm down John” Sherlock said, standing up and ushering John into the kitchen, where the food that smelled divine was.  “No one got hurt.  Well, Mycroft may have a bit of bruising, but…”

“Hang on, Mycroft?” John was clearly confused and possibly alarmed now.  “You really need to explain things from the beginning.”

So Sherlock did, starting from when he deduced that Mrs Hudson had taken Tom Bombadil from the front entrance hall and probably noted that he was in dire need of a wash and re-stuff and then, in the flurry of packing and the worry of her plants (he left that part of the story out) she simply forgot to return him.  “But we won’t let William in on that part of the story” Sherlock stated, watching john dish out three servings of Thai food and then continued the story.

“So now William thinks that Mycroft kidnapped Tom Bombadil?”

“Maybe that will teach him for kidnapping you.”

“It’s happened once, Sherlock and it wasn’t that bad.”

“Still too many.  He needs to learn that he can’t have what’s mine, just because he feels like it.”

“I wasn’t yours then” John reminded him.

Sherlock shrugged.  “Details.  Still, it was amusing and I got to watch him suffer.  Over all, it was a good day.”  Sherlock plucked a shrimp off of one of the plates and bit it in half.

“I don’t believe William bit him.  He has never bitten anyone in his life.” John said, a mixture between horror and awe at his sons actions.

“I know.  I only wish I had my phone set to video, rather than photo” Sherlock mused.

“Oh my god, you got photo evidence?”  John was clearly excited about this prospect.

“I did.  William is just finishing chronicling his first case as we speak.  Would you like to see?”

John didn’t answer, just picked up two plates and headed into the living room, where William was sat at the coffee table, adding the finishing touches to his scrap book.

Sherlock followed in time to see him holding his work up to John.  “Look daddy.  My firtht cathe.”

John put the plates down and picked up the book flipping through the pages.  Inside was all the pieces of evidence, printed out phone messages, photos, pictures and written accounts of how the case had progressed.  At the end was the picture of William taking a bite of Mycroft’s leg.  It had a page all to itself as Sherlock had printed that picture off in a bigger size.  John chuckled when he came to it and then looked down to William.  “You shouldn’t bite, buddy.  It’s a dirty habit” but he didn’t sound to upset about it.

“He wouldn’t tell me where Tom Bombadil wath” William stated as if that was a perfect excuse to stop being a civil human being.  “But we found him, thee” and William turned the page to show another full sized photo of him, reunited with Tom Bombadil on the couch at 221 B Baker Street.”

“Looks like you had an amazing day today” John clarified, closing the book and placing it on the floor next to his chair.  

“Yup” William confirmed, sitting crossed legged at the coffee table, pulling his plate closer to him.  “Tho now I’m a conthulting detective too, jutht like Therlock.”

At this Sherlock coughed around the noodles that were half way down his throat.

“I’m the only one in the world” Sherlock choked out, standing up to get a glass of water.

“Not any more” was Williams reply.


End file.
